


Sister

by AyumiUK (weirdpianist)



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Flash Fic, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person, Prequel, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdpianist/pseuds/AyumiUK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For me, peace only meant she'd smile more often... and that was all I ever wanted."</p><p>Mithos is trapped in Lloyd's exsphere. With nothing else to do, he reminisces about his childhood.</p><p>Fluff, madness, love and a tiny bit of hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Martel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was just gathering cobwebs in a corner of my HD. Now, it'll gather cobwebs in the internet! Yays?  
> Will contain some OCs. Bit hard not to, considering this takes place four millenia before ToS. Worry not, however, as they aren't the focus of the fic.
> 
> Cover art by me. Full version at DA:  
> MadnessFlower.deviantart.com/Tales-of-Symphonia-Sister-317227064

 

That year, the first snowflake in Heimdall fell on the tip of my nose. "It's a sign of good luck", father said. I wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying, though—rather, my eyes were fixed on the black cloud above our little cottage. I ran to our home and slammed the door open. "Mom!"

The smoke inside was asphyxiating. Eyes watering, I fumbled my way to the windows and opened them as quick as possible.

"AAAH!" I froze mid-motion. That was Martel's voice!

A green blur ran past me, followed by a horrible stench. Without missing a beat, I pursued it.

At the edge of the forest, a disheveled Martel was fussing over something that vaguely resembled a cake pan. Its contents were aptly described as 'fetid coal thing' by my younger self. "Sis, are you crying?'

Martel lowered her head for a moment and smiled, "Don't worry! I'm fine. Although I'm not sure if the plants I dumped my cake on will survive." She seemed depressed—and whether it was due to her horrendous cooking skills or the withered plants, I was never quite sure.

When I talked about that incident with Yuan, he declared she was sad because of her cooking. He then jokingly compared her latest creation with poison.

I can't forget the punch that followed his comment. The jerk's face was purple for an entire week, and Martel (what a mean left hook!) didn't heal it until he had apologized properly. And by properly, I mean grovel by her feet and let her use him as a chair... for hours.

(One week later however, Yuan was vindicated; it took one Lemon Gel, three Panacea bottles, an overpowered Recover and a Dispel—of all things—to heal Kratos after he taste-tested that… stew. After that, he never ate tomatoes again.)

"Cake?'

"Ah! That was a surprise birthday- eep!" She covered her mouth with both hands and ran away.

"Heh. Thanks, sis." I followed her to our home.

-o-

_You've been alive for one more cycle  
Cherish all your memories, but live for today._

_You've been alive for one more cycle  
May the seasons shed wisdom unto you._

_You've been alive for one more cycle  
Let not mistakes past lead you astray._

_You've been alive for one more cycle  
May the seasons shed wisdom unto you._

-o-

Mother's voice made the bonfire come alive and it danced along us. Father lifted me on his broad shoulders so I'd be a bit closer to where the snow comes from. I stretched my arms towards Heaven, as if thanking some deity.

Back then, I was truly happy.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Kratos really should know better than to accept food from half-elf older sisters with bratty brothers by now. Also, he was so traumatized that his aversion to tomatoes was engraved in his DNA. n.n


	2. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irena: Greek. 'Peace'.  
> Mars: The Roman god of war.  
> Martel: 'Hammer', 'From the god Mars'.  
> Mithos: Greek. 'Myth', 'Legend'.
> 
> Trivia: Mithos is a left-handed swordsman, if Tales of Fandom 2 is to be trusted.

-o-

_In my entire life, I had two families, and I loved them with all my heart._

_Really, how could I not, when Martel was part of both?_

-o-

**I: Mother**

Poetically enough, my first (chronological) memory was that of my birth. How do I remember that? The memories of one's death are the clearest; in the instant I died, I also had a wondrous vision…

_Beautiful sapphires sparkle joyously, slightly covered by blue green silk. Two petals then form a smile, and dew drops of exhaustion sprout. A soft voice then says, "It's a boy."_

Her name was Irena Yggdrasill, youngest granddaughter of the elder.

-o-

**II: Father**

He was a towering giant, the hero that protected our family.

Back then, his shoulders were so broad.

Blond hair and blue eyes, wide jaw and thick eyebrows. His mouth would always curve in a rough smile, as he told me stories of his time as a knight for Her Majesty Ilios and how he retired and came to Heimdall, where he met mother and had us.

Mars, the god of war… that name didn't really fit him; an injury prevented him from fighting and his heart was captured by the beautiful goddess of peace, or so he told me. Apparently, his marriage to an elf was a scandal, and his family disowned him after Martel was born.

-o-

**III: Sister**

For an elf, mother was pretty young when she married father. At thirty five years, two years after exchanging vows, she bore Martel.

Ten years passed happily, but my would-be-father, was starting to feel his age. When his forty seventh birthday came, he asked mother if she would bear him another child. Ecstatic, she nodded and hugged Martel, who began reciting possible names.

"Since we named Martel after me, how about we name our unborn child after you?" Father asked.

Mother simply shook her head and replied, "They both will carry my family name, and that's enough for me. I want them to have names that reflect our love for each other."

"Maybe we should see my little sibling's face before naming them? That way, we can find a name that fits."

"That's wonderful, dear!"

One year and two months later, I was born to loving parents and a doting older sister, who would later tell me of how I came to be, spinning the same tale in uncountable forms.

Children of war and peace, we laughed.

-o-


	3. Aunt

-o-

We lived in the outskirts of Heimdall, but for years, I thought the world was only the small clearing where our house was built.

This notion lasted until one sunny afternoon, when I was allowed to explore the village.

-o-

The fact they possessed the same energy as mother only served to further accentuate the differences. Their faces were cold, as if they didn't possess emotions. For a child who had only known wide smiles and open hearts, to know the world wasn't as beautiful as my sheltered life suggested... that left me with a sense of unease that never really faded away.

_(Because the world is a scary, ugly place.)_

I spotted a sign, and, using my recently acquired skills, put the letters together: 'Shop'. I decided to spend the gald mother had given me for my birthday.

"We are closed," said a woman with a very stern voice.

I fidgeted with the coins in my hand, "Oh, I'm sorry."

When she looked at me, her expression softened. "Ah, it's just a child. What do you want to buy? I've got some candy from Latheon Gorge and gels from Meltokio."

"Hm… I don't know. Mommy gave me some money and I'd like to buy her a present."

"Who's your mother, little one?"

"Irena Yggdrasill, madam. And I'm Mithos. What's your name?"

Her eyes widened a bit, but I didn't linger on that. "Irena Yggdrasil, you say? Why, she's my favorite niece! My name is Themis Yggdrasill."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes. Well, she was–at least until she married your father." She patted my head. "Your father was a gentleman, and I quite liked the idea of having him as a nephew, but my family... they all protested rather loudly. She couldn't stand it anymore and ran away from home." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Before she left, I tried to talk to her, but… I hurt Irena and she never spoke to me again."

"That must have been ages ago!" I exclaimed. "I'm sure Mommy has forgiven you already. She's very nice."

"You're such a dear." Themis smiled. "Little Mithos, would you call me auntie?"

"Okay. So… come with me, auntie! I'll talk to mommy and say you're sorry. I'm sure she will forgive you!"

"I'm not so sure…" She frowned.

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

_Complicated indeed. I never quite understood why adults like that phrase so much. Maybe they just don't want to think about something for too long…?_

"More complicated than Math?" I frowned.

_When we formed Cruxis, Kratos took care of finances. I still don't really like numbers._

"Yes."

"Well, okay. We can go later."

She went to the back of the store. "Wait just a moment. I have a gift for Irena." Themis returned, carrying a glass case filed with some cone shaped pastries; they looked delicious. "These were her favorites. If you want more, just visit me again."

I took the present and smiled. "Okay. Bye bye, auntie Themis!" I waved and exited the building.

-o-

Auntie was always nice to me. According to her, she had to spoil me to make up for all the family.

Later, I found out the Yggdrasil clan consisted of over three hundred people, so the fact she was the only one to ever acknowledge my existence was… horrible? Not really; in the end, it hardly mattered what a bunch of bigoted elves thought—I paid them back.

(Heimdall was, in the end, only the smallest of the elven settlements. When word spread of an Yggdrasil single-handedly decimating nine tenths of the Elven Folk... my dear relatives' reputation was forever tarnished.)

-o-

Two years later, Themis finally went to see mother. Why did it take so long, you ask?

My life was probably the Fates' idea of a joke, and clichés originated from somewhere in the first place.

…On a completely unrelated note, I do remember Yuan gloating about his catchphrases becoming widespread. His look of complete mortification after they were labeled 'cliché' is forever engraved in my mind. When he kept using them (supposedly, as a form of protest against 'the fickle nature of mortals'—as if that wasn't the very definition of mortality), I had the urge to throw him from the top of the Tower.

Repeatedly.

Without his Cruxis Crystal.

(That particular urge never really went away.)

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: the cone pastry represents a cornucopia, which is sometimes associated with the goddess of peace.
> 
> I found this in my HD. It's been sitting there for frigging two years! The revised version feels much crackier than the original. Where has my angst gone? orz
> 
> Also, it's much more deranged and disjointed. I guess it fits him, though.
> 
> Thoughts on this mess? Want me to stop writing and look for therapy? Want to slap me for procrastinating/writing basically a word per day? Well, there's this nifty box in which you can type a comment. It's so shiny!


End file.
